


Where We Set Our Sights

by LazyWriterGirl



Series: Femslash February 2017 - I Write Best When I'm Writing Gay [10]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Confessions, F/F, Femslash February 2017, Fluff, I Feel Like I Have Outgayed Myself, Kids to Young Adults, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill, Prompt: Kite, They're So Unnecessarily Dramatic and Gay, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10023749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl
Summary: “One day I’ll be a Pegasus Knight, and soar just like the kites we fly!”“A pegasus knight? Like in the stories? ...That’s amazing!”“Right? Can you imagine? Me? On the back of a pegasus!”Or, Cordelia and Sumia have always had their sights set on the sky (and on each other). The first, they realize early on. The second, well, that takes a little bit more time.Femslash February Prompt 10/12 - Kite





	

“How beautiful.”

 

Sumia says these two words quite a bit, often accompanied by one single tear in the corner of her eye. As her father likes to joke, she says them after every story she finishes, after coming across every illustration that captures the characters in ways that she could not even begin to fathom. Rarely will she say it about the world outside her books, her father says, but it is only ever a joke. He knows how much she loves her stories.

She loves books more than anything.

Sumia reads stories about dashing knights and beautiful ladies, and she’s not quite certain which one she’d like to grow up to be. On the one hand, the lady is always a lady, and Sumia’s mother says that she’s a lady already—albeit a very young lady—so really that would be easiest. She wouldn’t have to work very hard to be like the ladies in her stories, Sumia thinks. She’d just need to do whatever her mother says.

On the other hand, the knight is sometimes a grizzled old warrior, sometimes a handsome young man in large armour, and sometimes, _sometimes_ even a beautiful lady herself—a beautiful lady with a lance in her hands, astride a shining pegasus or a noble horse, or donning armour as strong as any man’s. Sumia wonders what she would have to do to become like one of those knights. It would probably take a lot of work, but she thinks she could do it even if right now she’s mostly clumsy and quiet and bookish and plain.

So really, there are _choices_ , even if her mother only shakes her head when Sumia plays the knight, imploring her to walk more daintily about the garden instead of “gallivanting about like a buffoon!”, as her mother puts it. Sumia can’t help it, it’s _boring_ being alone the way she is; her books are wonderful, but sometimes she just wants to romp about like all the other children. It’s unfortunate that most of the other children are as snooty as their parents, and refuse to so much as step outside without the shade of a parasol overhead.

Thankfully, Sumia’s father seems amused by her antics—perhaps even a little proud—so she doesn’t stop her games.

After all, though she _does_ run about as she plays, they’re very quiet, solitary games; games fed by her imagination and little else. She’d be sad to lose them because of her mother’s disapproval, honestly. Sometimes, it feels like they’re all she has, aside from her books, because it isn’t like Sumia has very many friends. For her age—which will be ten in November—she’s very clumsy and small, and the other girls her age (except for Sully, who Sumia’s mother _rudely_ says is barely a girl) ignore her or make fun of her.

 

Mostly they do both.

 

Sumia wishes that she didn’t have to see the other girls so much, but Ylissean high society makes the most of the fair summer weather, and hiding during the peak of the social season is next to impossible. Especially since she’s only nine years old and has to follow her mother’s every order as if it were law.

 

 

That is how, on a pleasant July day, Sumia finds herself trapped in the grand hall of Sir Whatshisname’s manor. She’s shivering under the stares of the other girls, fiddling with her dress and her shoes and anything else within reach. “Can’t I go _home_ , Mother?” Anything would be better than this. Standing here, just waiting for one of the girls to come over and pretend to invite her to their table, only to tease her once she got there.

“I’m sorry, darling, but we couldn’t let you alone with just the _servants_ for company,” says her mother, even though Sumia knows full well that Sully gets to stay home with _her_ servants. She doesn’t bring it up though; she knows her mother would only scoff and say that that’s well and good for the tomboyish daughter of a knight, but _not_ for a _proper_ young lady of noble blood. “Besides, all your friends are here, Sumia.”

“None of those girls are my friends,” Sumia says, and she can already feel the prickling of tears at the corners of her eyes. She stares at the floor, at her shoes, because if she looks anywhere else she really will start crying.

“Just ignore those other girls then, Sumia,” says her father, patting her ash-brown curls with his large hand. “Here, I brought along a new book for you. Go outside and read, if you’d like.”

She’d like that much more than having to sit at a table with the girls who bully her whenever they get the chance, yes. Looking up at her father, she feels a twinge of guilt for having brought such concern into his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to make her father feel badly. “Thank you very much, Father!” Taking the book, she curtsies to her parents—prettily enough that her mother only pouts as she slips out of the hall.

 

To say that she’s relieved to not be followed would be an understatement.

 

The sun is shining and there’s a lovely breeze and honestly, this is the best she’s felt about today since it started. Sumia ambles about in the garden for a while, curtsying to the various lords and ladies she encounters. They all nod and smile at her, asking her how she’s doing on this fine day. She answers (and behaves) as prettily as she can, knowing that those same answers and mannerisms will be related back to her mother.

Eventually the pathways clear of anybody else, and Sumia takes one look over her shoulder to make sure that she’s still close enough to the manor—she is—before settling underneath a large, sturdy tree. For a moment, she wonders if the grass will stain the backside of her dress, but she decides that that doesn’t matter. She’s always falling anyway—it’s no small miracle that she’d made it all the way out here with only a scraped knee and a sore palm—so a few stains won’t really make a difference. Sumia _does_ feel poorly for the maids who are tasked with cleaning her clothes, but she’ll make it up to them somehow.

Relaxed by the scent of the sweet-smelling grass, Sumia leans against the tree and begins to read. Her father has chosen a book about a pair of knights—two beautiful lady knights—and Sumia dives into the story with more enthusiasm than she’d ever managed to fake for occasions like this fancy luncheon. Were it not for the occasional passerby, Sumia would feel perfectly at home under this tree. As if she were sitting in her own garden back home, under the shade, letting the day pass by with her nose buried in a wonderful story.

 

She’s been reading for a good half hour, at least, when she’s yanked out of the dreamlike reverie that so often overcomes a reader. It’s a girl’s voice that does it. A girl’s voice that shouts, “Look out!” at the same time as a strange rustling occurs above her head, and Sumia, without thinking about it, rolls off to the side. A few seconds later, something crashes down in the spot she’d just rolled away from, and as Sumia stands, patting down her grass-stained dress in vain, she sees a girl—the owner of the voice, and presumably the fallen _thing_ —coming towards her.

The girl has long, slightly wild red hair and big red eyes, and the rosiest cheeks Sumia has ever seen. She’s tall and long-limbed and graceful even as she speed-walks in Sumia’s direction, and her clothes—a fashionable jacket-and-trousers combination that Sumia is absolutely certain was meant for boys (though it looks wonderful)—are a lovely combination of white and gold that looks much better than the powdery pink and beige tones of Sumia’s own dress. The girl’s eyes are fixated on the fallen thing, but they flick back up to meet Sumia’s, and stay there after a while.

Immediately, Sumia shuts her book and feels the old familiar nerves begin to appear.

She really, _really_ doesn’t do too well with other girls her age.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Did my kite hurt you?”

“Your…what?”

The girl—whose hair is truly the most _fascinating_ shade of red that Sumia has ever seen—picks up the fallen thing, stretching it out so that Sumia can see what looks to be a wooden frame with red-and-white fabric spread and held taut over it. Two long tails of golden ribbon—twined like two shining braids—stream from the body of the kite, and there’s a long, slim string too. The stranger begins to wrap the slim string around a wooden spool, and it is only after a minute of doing this that she says, “This. Did it hurt you?”

When the girl turns to look her over—perhaps convinced by Sumia’s silence that she had, in fact, been hurt—her eyes hold an open, concerned friendliness that Sumia has never seen on a girl her age before. At least, not in such direct relation to herself.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Sumia says, remembering her manners. This girl might _seem_ nicer than the others, but she’s still a young noble—at least, Sumia would _assume_ so. Much as she thinks she might like this stranger, she’s been tricked before. Better to keep the conversation as simple as possible. “Is your…kite…okay?”

The girl nods, turning to wave to a man and woman coming up the path. “Yeah. It’ll be fine. Father made sure to get me a sturdy one this time around, because I’m always breaking them.” She turns back to Sumia and smiles, and for the first time, Sumia notices just how pretty the friendly stranger is. “By the way, my name is Cordelia. What’s yours?”

“S-Sumia,” she says as Cordelia’s parents come to a stop beside them.

“Ah, so you’re the young Miss Sumia, are you?” says the man who must—with his expressive red eyes—be Cordelia’s father. He’s smiling down at her so kindly that Sumia can’t help but smile back.

She curtsies to him and his wife as she replies. “Yes, sir.”

“Your father told me that you’d be out here reading, dear, and I see he was right. I hope my lively girl here didn’t ruin a pleasant afternoon,” he says fondly, placing a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “Cordelia does tend to get rather too enthusiastic at times, don’t you, dearest?”

“Yes, Father,” says Cordelia, and Sumia catches a glimpse of the same stiff formality that she’d been raised in. On Cordelia, however, it is only a glimpse. Her smile—so bright it rivals the fierceness of her hair—returns only seconds later. “I shouldn’t have let go of the kite like that. Did I ruin your reading?”

Honestly, she had, a little, but that’s not very polite to say, nor was it so big of a deal. Sumia might not be good at a lot of things, but keeping her place in a story? She excels at that, so disruptions are a non-issue. “No, you certainly did not, though I appreciate your concern. Besides, I’d like to thank you for warning me. Thank you, Miss Cordelia,” she says, effecting a short curtsy meant for little lords and ladies of her age group.

“My, such lovely manners,” says Cordelia’s mother, and her smile is as radiant as her daughter’s. “Cordelia, dearest, you could stand to learn something from this adorable girl.”

“Yes, Mother,” says Cordelia, still smiling as she bounces on the balls of her feet.

Sumia is confused. Had her own mother said such a thing to her, it would have felt much colder. Much more like an order. Between Cordelia and her mother, however, it feels…warm. More of a joke than a serious suggestion. “Oh, I’m certain Miss Cordelia’s manners are perfectly well.”

Cordelia’s mother laughs. “At times, perhaps, but she does have quite a way to go yet.” The woman smiles down at Sumia, brushing back a lock of hair from Cordelia’s face. “Now that she’s distracted you though, perhaps you might entertain our girl? Her father and I have been playing at this kite business for some time and we’re getting to be too old to frolic about in the sun. Do you think that playing with Cordelia is something you might like?”

Sumia nods; something about the other girl is pleasant in a way that she’d never though another “proper” noble could be pleasant. “I think so, milady.”

Cordelia lets out a surprisingly raucous cheer before taking Sumia’s hand in hers—the one that isn’t holding on to the kite—and starting off back down the path from which her parents had come. Sumia startles at the sudden touch, all but pulling her hand free, and from the expression on Cordelia’s face she can tell that the other girl isn’t used to being rebuffed so strongly. “I-I’m very sorry, Miss Cordelia! I’m just…not used to…”

“It’s okay,” Cordelia says as her parents watch the exchange. “ _I’m_ sorry. I should have asked.” Her smile dims for a minute. “Sometimes I come off a bit pushy; that’s what Mother says, anyway. Right, Mother?”

“Sometimes, dearest, yes,” says Cordelia’s mother, though she does not stop smiling at the pair of girls before her. Sumia is almost overjoyed that the older woman does not seem to be upset with her in the least. Why though?

“I-it’s not a p-problem,” she says. “I um…I’m just. I’m clumsy, so nobody really wants to hold my hand. They’d much rather tease me.”

“That’s rude,” Cordelia says immediately, and Sumia likes her even more for those two words alone. “ _I_ think you’re great. Now, would you hold my hand, so I can take you to the big field over there and show you how to fly a kite?”

“S-sure,” Sumia says, reaching for Cordelia properly this time. “I’ve never flown a kite before, Miss Cordelia.”

“I don’t like it when my friends call me “Miss”. How about you just call me Cordelia, and I’ll call you Sumia.”

“O-okay,” she says, knowing that her mother would hate for her to be so informal. “I’ve never flown a kite before, Cordelia.”

“You’re going to love it,” Cordelia says, smiling as their fingers lock together. She holds on even when Sumia stumbles, helps Sumia up when she falls, and she does not let go until they make it to the field. Sumia is amazed.

After a quick explanation and a moment of waiting for more favourable winds, they begin, and Sumia is dazzled by the way the kite looks in the air. The red-and-white body of the kite is chased by the shimmering gold of its tails, and Sumia finds that she can’t look away. It’s stunning, like a firebird straight out of a fairytale (or a red-haired knight astride a gold-tailed pegasus) and as Cordelia hands her the spool and shows her how to guide the kite, Sumia laughs.

Cordelia’s voice is close to her ear when she asks “Was I right then?”

Sumia turns, happier than she’s been for a long time. “You were right!” There’s a tear in the corner of her eye, but Sumia doesn’t care—this is the most wonderful thing she thinks she has ever seen. “How beautiful,” she breathes.

 

***

 

As it turns out, Cordelia is exactly the kind of girl that Sumia’s mother wishes she could befriend—if not become—(at least around adults) and that is why, with her mother’s blessing, Sumia begins to spend whole _days_ roaming about Cordelia’s property with the redhead at her side. Cordelia, whose birthday is in July, is brave and brilliant, and frankly if they weren’t friends, Sumia would be a little intimidated. Still, the older girl is never anything less than perfectly kind and warm with her shy, clumsy friend.

 

Slowly, almost without them realizing it, they become inseparable.

 

In Sumia’s mind, the rest of the summer becomes a blur of red hair and a red kite and a warm, lovely smile. The rest of the _year_ becomes a tangle of that same hair and that same smile and parties spent in a quiet place with a book in her lap and a friend at her side; of being defended by her gallant new friend, Cordelia, who holds herself just the same as the knights in Sumia’s stories.

 

 

 

The red-and-gold kite breaks almost a year after she and Cordelia first meet, and after careful deliberation the next one that they fly together is a lovely pink-and-silver thing with aqua-coloured streamers. Cordelia laughs and says it reminds her of Sumia’s dress from the party where they met, and Sumia finds that she must agree even though her dress had been pink and _beige_.

In the air, the new kite appears as a fish speeding through the water, the pink-and-silver body sparkling like scales.

“That’s so pretty! Don’t you think so, Su?”

 _Su_. Sumia had never had a friend to call her by a pet name before, but now she has Cordelia—or Cordy, for when it’s just the two of them—and she’s beyond thrilled. With Cordelia, she doesn’t feel out of place or stupid or slow, nor overly awkward or bad or unwanted. She simply feels like herself, like a quiet, clever, often clumsy girl who likes to read, and that’s a wonderful feeling. Sumia is glad that Cordelia is her friend—her very best friend, if she’s honest—and the days that they spend together in the summer make for happy memories during the winter chill.

 

And so, they pass another year, and then another, their bond strengthening all the while.

 

It comes to the point where sometimes, she doesn’t know if she’s saying or doing something because it’s what she’d have done herself, or because of how strongly-tied she feels to Cordelia. Sumia remembers how she’d thought before, how she’d wondered what she would grow to be—a lady, or a knight—and in her mind, she might be neither (not good enough, not strong enough), but Cordelia?

She’s both.

Not that Sumia ever tells her friend this, because they’re close—so close—but this might be a little too weird. Anyway, Cordelia’s is going to be a fine lady when she grows up—it’s obvious in the way she carries herself in public, all proper and polite. the more rambunctious side of her reserved solely for Sumia). _She_ wouldn’t be so silly as to dream of maybe being a knight one day. Not like Sumia, who sometimes hopes…well, it doesn’t matter. Cordelia is going to be a great lady one day, and maybe she’ll be one too.

 

Sumia thinks that that would be fine (predictable and _boring_ , but fine), and she’s convinced that that is exactly how their lives will turn out until one pleasant summer morning, when Cordelia says something that shakes their shared world in the best of ways.

 

It begins like any other day, with Cordelia and her parents arriving at her family’s manor early in the morning. They’re all going exploring—or, as her mother insists on calling it, on a lovely countryside romp—which means that Sumia and Cordelia will undoubtedly be allowed to ride ahead. Cordelia is a bit agitated, it seems—or perhaps Sumia is just reading a bit too much into the way her best friend fiddles with a lock of her stunning red hair.

She watches Cordelia as they ride off the grounds, but the other girl only smiles and winks in her direction—the way she always does—before turning to ask their parents where exactly they’re headed today. After getting the answer, she maneuvers her horse close enough to Sumia’s that she can whisper “Want to race?”, laughing when Sumia stutters out n answer. Sumia can’t stop her own laughter as she urges her horse forward, chasing after Cordelia as their parents shout half-hearted warnings.

 

 

Even when there’s something off about her, Cordelia just seems to shine; or maybe that’s just the case from where Sumia is standing.

 

 

“Do you have a dream for yourself, Su?” Cordelia asks later as they lie side-by-side on a hillside, watching the clouds. There’s the promise of wind in the air—a good thing, as they’ve brought a kite with them today—but for now there is nothing but a light breeze that tugs at their hair though they both lie on their backs.

“Doesn’t everybody have a dream for themselves?”

“Perhaps, yes, but I don’t mean just any dream. I’m talking about that one thing that you would definitely do if you could do _anything_.”

Sumia has to think on the question for a bit, because there are a number of things she would like to do, but one thing in _particular_? She’s not sure if she’s gotten so far in her dreams for the future. Not just yet, at least. “Nothing comes to mind. At least, not right now.” For a moment, there is only silence between them, until she realizes that she’d forgotten to return the question. “What about you, Cordy? Do _you_ have a dream like that?”

“I do,” says Cordelia, turning her face to catch Sumia’s wide-eyed expression. She smiles, the corners of her eyes drawing up with the effort, and Sumia loses a tiny piece of her heart to the deep red that peers at her through blades of fresh green grass.

So maybe she’s put some thought into her future, but honestly, she’s just being childish. Cordelia would never…she catches herself. This is not the time, Sumia.  “What’s this dream then, Cordy?”

Cordelia’s smile widens and she rolls onto her back once more as she says, so loudly that Sumia is sure their parents down below can hear them, “One day I’ll be a Pegasus Knight, and soar just like the kites we fly!”

“A pegasus knight? Like in the stories?” Sumia blinks. She’d never known that Cordelia wanted to be a knight! “That’s amazing!”

Cordelia stands, turning to offer Sumia her hand, and Sumia rises too. “Right? Can you imagine? Me? On the back of a pegasus!” She sweeps her arms around in large circles as she speaks, and Sumia hopes that it’s just the heat that has brought such a warm feeling to her cheeks. “Just like the dashing knights in your stories, Su! Though it isn’t just about being dashing, of course. It’s about honour, and courage, and riding the winds in defense of your country!”

“W-wow…” Sumia trails off, lost, for a moment, in imagining the kind of knight Cordelia would be. A great knight, surely; a paragon of excellence. “D-do you think I could be one too?” When Cordelia turns to look at her, she adds, “Um, I mean…a Pegasus Knight?” She knows that she doesn’t need to _ask_ her best friend this question—knows that it’s silly, to think that she could hope to be something so great as what Cordelia describes. But she wants to ask.

“I do, Sumia. I do,” Cordelia answers, and when their eyes meet the gaze is accompanied by her hand wrapped up in Cordelia’s. “I think that you’d be a kind and strong knight. The kind of knight that people would look up to, would want their sons and daughters to be like.”

“You always say the nicest things to me,” Sumia says, suddenly nervous as Cordelia steps into her space.

“I only say what I think is true,” Cordelia says, smiling. “And there’s no need to be shy, Su…come on, we’ve been best friends for years.”

“I know but…” She doesn’t know what she’d wanted to say; she’s not sure if she’s forgotten or if she’d never really known. Instead, she says, “So…are you serious about wanting to be a Pegasus Knight, Cordy?”

Cordelia’s eyes hold a touch of concern in them that Sumia knows her friend to keep specifically for her, but the redhead appears to be fidgety again, the way that she’d been at the beginning of the trip. “Yes…you see…about that.”

“What is it?”

“Father and Mother already agreed to let me enlist as a cadet. Training begins next week…so I won’t be able to spend time with you like this for a long time.”

Sumia wants to cry. She’d always known that one day these lazy summers would end, but to think that it is happening so soon…wait. “Is there still time to enlist?”

“Yes, I think so,” Cordelia says, comprehension dawning on her face. “Oh, Su, it would be _wonderful_ if you joined me! But…only if you’re sure.”

Sumia looks up into her friend’s eyes—Cordelia has always been taller than her, but even now that she’s beginning to grow, she still needs to tilt her head back. “I don’t really know if I have any big dreams like you do, and maybe this isn’t my calling like how it’s yours…but I want to try!” She realizes as the words leave her mouth, that she really does want to try.

“Well then, come on,” says Cordelia, offering Sumia her hand.

Sumia intertwines her fingers with Cordelia without thinking before asking, “Where are we going?”

“To ask your parents if you can enlist as a cadet with me.” Cordelia squeezes her hand. “If you really want to, of course.”

Sumia takes a moment to think. She’d once thought that she was more lady than knight, but perhaps, like Cordelia, she could be both? There’s no rule against it—Sumia thinks of Sully, who’s doing things her way, from what she hears—and it appeals to her more than spending even a single second more learning about embroidery from her mother in a dustless, sunless sitting room. Who says, after all, that she needs to just keep on being her mother’s timid little noble? She, Sumia, could be a knight too!

A knight like the ones in her stories.

 

Cordelia herself had said so, and in the three years that they’ve known each other, Cordelia has never been wrong.

 

Stooping first to pick up the kite that they still have no use for (where is that breeze?), Sumia allows Cordelia to guide her down the hill. After tripping once or twice, they manage to make it to the clearing where the adults are all sitting around a large, flat boulder. Cordelia announces the plan for her, because she’s so nervous and stutters at every other word.

To her surprise, her parents make no objections—her mother does not even scoff or smirk—and they tell her that she will make a fine Pegasus Knight.

Sumia suspects that Cordelia’s parents have been working on them, and she shoots them an appreciative smile, to which they nod. Her own parents, who are honestly taking this _so_ well, tell her to enjoy the time that she and Cordelia have, because training, once it begins, will be difficult and taxing, time-consuming. She nods and curtsies and thanks them, all while Cordelia and her parents smile proudly on. It’s almost as though she were a member of _their_ family, and not her own. Later, she’ll think to ask her mother why she’d so readily agreed, but for now, this is nice. Just feeling like she’s doing something right. Making her parents proud and being true to herself all at the same time.

 

The wind picks up and Cordelia pulls her back up the hillside, and soon they are flying their kite together. “Su?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’ll be joining the Pegasus Knights with me.”

Sumia can’t come up with a reply that won’t potentially scare Cordelia—or make her think Sumia’s being _weird_ —so instead she only smiles as the pink-and-silver kite swerves through the air. She’s glad, too.

 

The sunlight hits their kite _just-so_ and Sumia gasps, feeling the tear at the corner of her eye. She looks at Cordelia, whose eyes find hers despute the pull of the glistening kite. “How beautiful,” she breathes.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

There is a breeze, the kind that feels like the start of a good kiting breeze, but now is not the time for such games.

From her seat in the front row, Sumia cheers. Cordelia is on stage, and Captain Phila is presenting her with one of the small silver pins that represents full membership within the Ylissean Pegasus Knights. Sumia herself is technically a Pegasus Knight too, but not really, because she has yet to earn a mount of her own and thus cannot earn herself a pin, but that’s fine with Sumia.

It’s only been four years, and she’s been doing so much better than anybody could ever have hoped—with no small amount of thanks due to the red-haired girl standing proudly on the stage.

Anyway, it makes _sense_ that Cordelia is advancing ahead of all the other girls who’d started out with them, many of whom had bullied Sumia in their younger years and had thought to continue it as they trained together. Cordelia strikes the surest, aims the truest, flies the farthest, _works_ the hardest. She’s superlative, and it’s kept many of the other girls from liking her, but Sumia has never been anything but proud of her best friend. Supportive. And hopelessly, desperately enamoured.

 

Not that Cordelia, blind as she is to anybody other than Prince Chrom, can see that.

 

Sumia isn’t sure if she’s more relieved than hurt, or if the feelings she has for her best friend have completely overridden her common sense. After all, logically it should be clear who Cordelia would choose. Her clumsy, boring, bookish best friend, or a charming, handsome, righteous prince? Even in her stories, it’s the latter that the lady chooses, and the knight, well…the knight doesn’t choose her fellow knight, no, she chooses the prince or princess.

Sumia hopes that, if she is to lose to the prince, he will at least love Cordelia the way that she deserves to be loved. Because Cordelia deserves the world. And Sumia…well, she might not be able to give the other girl that, but she _wants_ to. Wants to give everything to the girl who’d taught her how to fly a kite, who’d been her friend even though she was nothing more than a little-lady-in-training.

As if she can hear Sumia’s thoughts, Cordelia turns, and for a second Sumia allows herself to imagine that Cordelia knew her feelings already.

“Congratulations, Cordelia!” she calls, gratified by the way the other girl waves at her but sad that it is too formal an occasion to lapse into the use of Cordelia’s nickname. They haven’t called each other by those in years—not since officially becoming cadets. It had seemed childish to them back then.

It seems childish—if not more than a little nostalgic—now.

Sumia cheers with the crowd as Captain Phila praises Cordelia’s work, as she explains why Cordelia has risen to become a Pegasus Knight sister despite her youth. Some of the other cadets—the young noblewomen who’d harassed Sumia and jeered at Cordelia—turn away, uninterested in hearing about “Little Miss Perfect” anymore. Sumia only shakes her head at them and listens all the more proudly, because she knows the truth. She knows of the hard work, the late nights, the constant struggle. Captain Phila declares that Cordelia will be joining the official border guard at the Plegia-Ylisse border, and though Sumia is worried, she cheers, because this is what Cordelia has always wanted underneath her desire to be a hero; the chance to protect their homeland.

 

Cordelia deserves this more than anyone.

 

Later that night, in the banquet hall, she says so, and Cordelia smiles and pulls her in for a tight hug before being whisked away by her new sisters. The redhead glances back at Sumia, mouthing, “Stables later?” and then she’s gone, and Sumia ambles over to a table with the few cadets who _don’t_ make her want to rip all her hair out in frustration. They greet her warmly, and for a moment Sumia thinks she’ll be able to enjoy the celebrations…until the topic of conversation turns, as expected, to Cordelia.

“Have you heard? Prince Chrom has his eyes on a young lady!”

“Do you think it might be Cordelia?”

“I should say so! Did you not hear that they were spotted in the market together?

“No!

“Any word on all this, Sumia? You’re her best friend, right?”

Sumia smiles and shakes her head and tries to avoid saying anything. She’d known about the market trip, but she hadn’t thought anything of it. Cordelia hadn’t seemed particularly flustered afterwards—though she _had_ hidden something in her drawer before Sumia could get a look.

Perhaps something _had_ happened between Cordelia and the prince?

The thought sinks her spirits, though she’d expected it to.

“Oh come on, Sumia, don’t hold out on us! What do you know?” says one of the other girls, passing a mug of warmed cider to her in a mock-bribe.

The needling from her fellow cadets is light-hearted, and they have the sense to drop the topic once her discomfort announces itself. Sumia tries to keep up with the conversation as it changes, but she cannot help her eyes. They glance about every so often, searching for the familiar, reassuring red of Cordelia’s hair.

She’s going to tell her. That’s it. She absolutely _must_ tell Cordelia how she feels, before anything else can change in their lives. Sumia downs the contents of the mug that was passed to her and tries to pretend that she’s just swallowed down every reason against making a confession to her best friend. Even if the rumours are true and there’s something going on, she owes Cordelia her honesty. Sumia will tell her tonight. When it’s just the two of them. She’ll be honest and confess the feelings she’s had for years now.

 

 

The night, though it is merry, feels entirely too long.

 

 

It takes her _hours_ before she’s able to sneak away, and though she’s tired, she immediately goes to the stables, where Cordelia is waiting for her, stroking her mount’s neck slowly. “Su,” Cordelia breathes as she appears in the doorway, and Sumia feels her heart catch at the word. “Did you enjoy the party?”

“It was fine. Did you?”

“It was fine,” Cordelia says, patting her mount’s neck one last time before joining Sumia at the doorway. Wordlessly, she offers Sumia her hand, and Sumia takes it without question. Cordelia has changed in the last four years, but some things remain the same. She’ll speak when she’s ready, so for now the least Sumia can do is be here.

Cordelia guides her through the darkened grounds, her smile soft in the moonlight whenever Sumia stumbles or falls. Sumia doesn’t recognize the pathway that Cordelia takes, but that doesn’t matter. It’s only until they’ve been walking through the dark for at least twenty minutes that she even thinks to ask, but Cordelia beats her to it.

“Have you ever noticed that there’s a hill just beyond here?”

“I think I saw it once, on a practice flight…is that where we’re going?”

“Yes,” Cordelia says. “I apologize for making you stay up so late, but you’re the only person I can depend on for company at a time like this.”

Sumia swallows down her nerves—but why should she be nervous—and tries for a smile. “I’ll always be here for you, Cordy.”

“Thank you, Su.” Cordelia sounds so mature now, so different from the friendly, boisterous girl Sumia had met, and yet she’s still just as considerate. They’ve both done quite a bit of growing up, but where Sumia has merely taken steps, Cordelia has taken leaps and bounds. At least, it feels that way. “You’re thinking poorly of yourself again, aren’t you?” She stops walking, surprised when Cordelia stops walking to turn to her.

The wind has picked up quite a bit from the breeze it was during the ceremony, and Sumia finds herself wishing for a kite. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Cordelia says, wrapping an arm around Sumia’s waist as the ground begins to slope beneath them. “Don’t apologize. I just…it hurts me to think that you still can’t see how good you are, Sumia.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she only leans into Cordelia and concentrates on her footing, hoping that she won’t trip. The hill is not as steep as some they have climbed together, but it is dark and windy and Sumia does not want to cause her best friend injury. Not ever, and especially not the night before Cordelia is to deploy for her first official mission.

 

Thankfully they reach the top of the hill without incident, and for a moment Sumia only stands there, caught between the moonlight and the way Cordelia’s eyes shine. Cordelia hasn’t let go of her waist. Sumia doesn’t want her to.

“Su…”

“Are you scared?” She doesn’t know why it’s the first thing she’d thought to ask, but she goes with it.

Cordelia’s grip on her waist tightens just a little, and she seems to be thinking of the best way to answer. Sumia doesn’t mind; it’s just like Cordelia to think before she speaks—well, _now_ ; she wouldn’t have done that before. After a moment, Cordelia shakes her head, long locks of red whipping about her face. “I’m as prepared as I’m ever going to be, Su, so I shouldn’t be scared. This is what we’ve been training for, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” she says, because she can see that Cordelia is determined—if a little scared. Sumia shivers, partly because of the cold and partly because she doesn’t think she can be as brave as her best friend. She’s scared for Cordelia, scared for her safety. Scared of what could happen. “You’ve worked so hard, Cordy; you’re the bravest of all of us. I’m proud of you,” she says, because she doesn’t want the other girl to think that she’s more scared than proud. She shivers again.

“If I’m here right now, it’s because of you,” Cordelia says, pulling Sumia a little closer against the chill of the wind. “Everything I’ve done in the last four years, I’ve done with your help.”

That isn’t the answer that she’s expecting, and she’s thankful for the chill of the wind—a good explanation for the pink gracing her cheeks. “Me?” asks Sumia, unable to believe what she’s hearing. “I should be saying this about _you_! Without you, I’d be at home, in my mother’s parlour, else…I don’t even know where!”

Cordelia shakes her head. “I’m sure you’d have found some way to be exceptional,” she says, and her smile is so soft and so fond and Sumia is so, _so_ enamoured that it’s barely fair.

Perhaps emboldened by the moment and the moonlight, Sumia presses closer to Cordelia and says, “If I could find a way to be exceptional in your eyes, I’d do it.”

Cordelia tenses slightly, but does not push her away, and Sumia wonders what kind of emotion must be in the redhead’s eyes right now. Is she confused? Is she saddened? Disgusted? She doesn’t want to look. “Sumia…what do you mean?”

She pulls away, not trusting herself to look Cordelia in the eyes. “I know that you only have eyes for Prince Chrom, but I…”

“Whoa!” says Cordelia, “W-who said anything about that?”

It’s the stutter that brings Sumia’s eyes up to her best friend’s face and to say that she’s surprised at what she finds would be…an understatement. Cordelia is blushing, else just very, very cold, and her eyes are soft around the edges, if a little wide with confusion.

“A-aren’t you in love with him?”

Cordelia fidgets and shakes her head. “I admit, the prince is very attractive, and a kind young man, but…no, I’m not in love with him.”

“That’s what everybody else says,” she mumbles, and she’s reminded of how close they are by the clear sound of Cordelia’s gentle laugh—which shouldn’t be audible in this wind—and the warmth of the other girl’s arm around her waist.

“Su, you and I have known each other for what, seven years now? Don’t you think I would tell you if I had feelings for anyone?”

“I-I mean, I would _hope_ you would but it isn’t like I’ve ever told _you_ how I feel about y—um!” She hangs her head—way to spoil the chance at a perfectly romantic confession, Sumia!

 

“Su?”

 

She could back out of this.

 

“Sumia?”

 

She could play it off like a joke.

 

“Sumia, please.”

 

She steels herself; she _owes_ Cordelia this much, at least. Cordelia has always been honest with her, always open, and it would be disrespecting all that they’ve shared to turn back now. Sumia knows that she’s reached a point from which she can no longer turn back. She has a speech prepared, and everything. She’s going to confess to Cordelia now, in the moonlight, atop this windswept hill.

 

Just like a knight in one of her stories.

 

“I-I…I think I love you, Cordy.” She corrects herself immediately. “No, I…I know I love you.” Cordelia looks…stunned, to say the least, so she presses forward. She has nothing left to lose. “I don’t know how it happened, but I know why. I love you because from the _moment_ we met, you saw me for me and never thought to turn me into something I wasn’t. You saw me and liked me even though I was clumsy and quiet and bookish and plain.”

“Sumia…”

“And I know that you’re leaving tomorrow, and that you’re ready to take on the world. I know that I shouldn’t have said anything, but I couldn’t help it. Because the truth is, you make me feel special. You’re the only person who treats me like I’m special.”

“I treat you that way because you _are_ special, Sumia.”

There’s something in the way she says it, something in the curve of her smile that tells Sumia more than even the words—which, if she’s honest, are telling enough if one would only listen as closely as she does—and she gasps. She knows that it’s clichéd, that she shouldn’t be acting like such a _damsel_ but she does, because… “Cordelia…are you saying…”

“It would appear that you are even braver than I, Sumia,” says Cordelia. “Had you not spoken, I’m afraid that both of us would have left this hilltop unknowing of our shared affections.” The arm around Sumia’s waist is joined by its twin, and Sumia wraps herself up in the taller girl’s warmth on instinct.

“I never would have thought that you felt the same way…you always seemed to be looking somewhere else.” Sumia doesn’t invoke the prince’s name now; he’s lovely, but he has no place here under the moonlight. No place between herself and Cordelia.

“How could I ever have eyes for anyone but you? The girl who flew kites with me every summer, who opened her world of stories to me and showed me that a lady can be a knight without sacrificing any part of herself. The girl who stood by me when I was too strict, too harsh, too prideful for anyone else. How could anyone ever win my love from you?”

Sumia doesn’t have an answer for that, distracted as she is by the way Cordelia looks in this moment. She’s shining, her hair tousled with the wind, and as gallant and dashing as any of the knights that Sumia has whiled away her days reading about. And she’s real.

“I love you,” Sumia says, more earnestly than before.

Cordelia’s forehead touches hers, and the taller girl’s smile brightens her eyes until Sumia feels that she is staring into the sun. “I love you.”

“You’re beautiful,” she breathes.

 

***

 

The next morning, before Cordelia leaves, she presents Sumia with two strings of beads, “For your hair, Su.” She puts them on immediately, throwing herself into Cordelia’s arms as soon as she’s done.

“I’m never going to remove them, not once while you’re away.”

Cordelia laughs, holding Sumia’s hand as they exit the tent. In the sunlight, her red hair and her armour—white with golden accents—reminds Sumia of something. Something that she’s never quite forgotten, but not thought about for a while…something _important_ to the two of them, she’s sure. “I’ll miss you terribly,” Cordelia says as they walk out to the field where Captain Phila and the rest of the Pegasus Knights are waiting.

 

“I’ll do a flower fortune for your safety every single day.”

 

“Oh, Sumia.”

 

“I will!”

 

Captain Phila smiles when she sees them together, nodding at Cordelia, and Sumia can feel the blush rise to her cheeks. Some of the other girls make no secret of their whispering and their curious glances, but she cares less about them. She’s sure that there will be a bout of rumours as soon as Cordelia leaves, but she’ll handle those when they come about. Judging from the way Captain Phila looks at the gossipers, Sumia won’t have to do it alone.

 

There’s a final address, some words to the Pegasus Knight sisters who are going to the border with Cordelia. Throughout it all the redhead stays by Sumia’s side, stroking the back of Sumia’s hand with her thumb. She’s nervous, but only slightly. Perhaps, and Sumia thinks of this with a small smile on her lips, more nervous to be leaving Sumia than anything else.

“Be brave,” she whispers, and the taller girl kisses the side of her head in response.

“Godspeed, my sisters,” says Captain Phil, smiling sadly at the Pegasus Knights as they begin to mount up.

Cordelia squeezes Sumia’s hand once, then twice, then releases it only to be pulled back.

“I love you. Please stay safe,” Sumia says.

“I will,” is Cordelia’s reply before she pulls Sumia close and kisses her once, lightly, the feeling sweet against her lips. “I love you.” Their lips brush again, and a chorus of cheers erupts from the other cadets, but Sumia doesn’t care. All she can feel is the touch of Cordelia’s lips against hers. It’s a moment out of a storybook.

Sumia feels dizzy when Cordelia pulls away and breathless when she sees the girl she loves astride her pegasus, poised with a lance in her hand. Captain Phila calls for the salute and she complies, though her eyes don’t ever leave Cordelia. The other girl is smiling now, and her cheeks are pink, and _gods_ but Sumia doesn’t want her to go.

 

When Cordelia takes to the air, her breath catches. The red of her hair and the white of her armour, the golden accents gleaming in the sun…Cordelia is magnificent. Though the Pegasus Knights all fly in impeccable formation, Cordelia stands out, the brightest of all. Sumia cannot look away.

 

Hasn’t she seen this before?

 

She thinks back to the day of a summer fete at the manor of a lord whose name she cannot remember, and she sees it. Sees herself and Cordelia, only nine years old, running through a field with a spool in their hands. Their sights had been set on the sky even then.

At least, part of the time.

If Sumia thinks hard enough, she can just barely remember how her eyes had been on Cordelia that day, as well. The same way that they are now. As if she’s nine years old again and seeing, for the first time, the red-and-white kite soaring through the air; except that Cordelia is more stunning than any kite could ever be.

The only thing that could be more dazzling than this sight, Sumia thinks, would be that of Cordelia returning to her, safe and sound, but she will have to wait for that. As the figures in the sky pull ever further, Sumia strains for one last glimpse of her love. It will be a long while before they meet again, and she wants to hold on to this moment for as long as she can.

 

“How beautiful,” she breathes.

 

 


End file.
